


Chrysalis

by admiralty



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s02e01 Little Green Men, F/M, Light Angst, Scenes in between
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiralty/pseuds/admiralty
Summary: She wondered how Fox Mulder was surviving in an X-Files-free existence. But the nagging part of her brain just wondered if he missed her too; if he’d even spared her a thought these past few weeks.Takes place between “Erlenmeyer Flask” and “Little Green Men.”
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 17
Kudos: 103





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Nicole and Fiona for the last-minute beta xo

_“A change for us. It’s coming.”_

-Fox Mulder, _Tooms_

  
  
  
  


The nightmares had been happening more and more frequently. 

Usually, the images of Samantha being lifted out of a window into the blinding white light of nothingness were latent in his mind; tempered by his relentless energy, his will to move forward. The distraction of work, the distraction of Scully.

For the past few nights, however, it had been happening again: the helpless screams of _Fox!_ as his kid sister was taken-- _by what, by whom?_ \-- into some hellish purgatory beyond his comprehension. And the guilt was back, too. It was the not knowing that lay heavy in his soul like lead, day after day, like chains around his ankles. Like Old Marley doing his time, paying penance for his sins.

He couldn’t give up on her. Not ever. This would forever be the penance of Fox Mulder.

He sat outside Assistant Director Skinner’s office, nervously chewing sunflower seeds. There was little pretense surrounding this meeting; he knew exactly what he was here for. Late night meetings could only mean one thing. 

Skinner’s assistant called him inside and Mulder sat down, ready to face the music. The tall man who always smoked hovered behind him, staring out the window, for all the world as if he had no interest in even being present.

“I’m not going to sugar coat this, Agent Mulder,” Skinner said with no preamble. “The X-Files unit is being shut down. You and Agent Scully will be separated and reassigned to different divisions for the time being, until we figure out a more permanent situation.”

The words _you and Agent Scully will be separated_ hung in the air around him, the prospect of such an outcome hitting him square in the chest. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been relying on her until he no longer had the option.

“Why isn’t Agent Scully here?” Mulder asked.

“We attempted to contact her, but she’s not answering her phone. And this came directly from the top.”

Mulder raised an eyebrow at his boss. “The top, sir?”

“The executive branch stepped in on this. The order was to be carried out immediately.”

Mulder shook his head a bit, tapped his foot a couple of times on the floor. This was no budgetary decision, or a quick solution to an idle annoyance. He and Scully had been onto something, something big, and now the X-Files were being swept under the rug just like the evidence he’d discovered at Zeus Storage.

Just like Deep Throat.

Skinner ended the meeting and Mulder left without another word. Rather than pressing the button to get to the garage, he took the elevator to the ground floor and headed out into the night air, needing to walk this off. 

_If only Scully had been able to see it,_ Mulder thought. She’d been so close to believing him this time, so close. He struggled daily with the inherent contradiction of their partnership, and how it never made any sense on the outside but they were still somehow able to ebb and flow into each other like a single stream, working together, charging forth past obstacles to wherever their ocean was. He’d gotten closer to it than ever before with her by his side.

How would he move forward now without her? He wasn’t even sure that he could.

He walked, and walked, until he found himself at the Arlington Memorial Bridge and realized it was much too far to walk all the way home. He hailed a taxi, abandoning his own car in the Hoover Building garage, and watched the city disappear behind him as he was whisked home.

  
  
***

  
  


_“Mulder… I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anybody but you.”_

_Mulder looks at her with that puppy dog face she’s gotten so used to, so fond of. The face that could convince her of anything._

_Almost anything._

_“You say that, but you won’t believe me, Scully,” he says, his countenance sullen._

_“I want to believe you, Mulder,” she says._

_“You don’t trust me,” he continues. He’s practically indignant, like a toddler about to stamp his foot and collapse on the ground into sobs._

_“I trust you more than anyone, Mulder,” she assures him._

_“Then why didn’t you tell me about this?” He turns in the driver seat of the car, reaches back between them, and pulls out a container. He opens the top, and there’s a hiss as it slides open, mist unfurling around his head like tendrils of icy fog._

_Inside is a frozen alien fetus._

  
  
**May 24, 1994**

Scully awoke with a start, her breathing rapid. She glanced at the digital clock next to her as it ticked to 11:21. 

Settling back down into her pillow, she oriented herself with her surroundings, wondering about this latest dream. Her sleeping mind was apparently as restless as her waking one, in which she would replay Deep Throat’s execution over and over since it happened over a week ago. She’d been an FBI agent for some time now, even fired her own weapon in the line of duty on a few occasions, but it was the first time anyone had ever been executed in cold blood right before her eyes. She still hadn’t quite gotten over it.

The events of the past several days had been almost more than she could take, and it was weighing on her. While working with Mulder, her mind had waged a perpetual battle between the fantastic and the rational. And when she’d discovered what appeared to be an alien fetus in that government facility, the rational had taken a severe hit.

She hadn’t mentioned it to Mulder yet. And although she knew why, she felt guilty anyway.

 _You saw it, Scully,_ he’d say. And she couldn’t deny it. She had seen it. But the difference between herself and Mulder was that seeing wasn’t always enough for her. She needed confirmation, verification that her eyes weren’t capable of giving her. The truth lay somewhere she couldn’t go in this case. It would be an endless cycle of doubt.

As far as Mulder was concerned, it was a breadcrumb that could lead him in the wrong direction. Telling him what she’d found would send her partner into a tailspin she wasn’t prepared to deal with. Based on nothing more than a hunch, he would run off after his answers and she would inevitably follow him.

She always followed him.

Scully stretched and closed her eyes, willing her body to fall back to sleep. _Tomorrow_ , she thought. She would tell him tomorrow. She owed him the truth. They would figure out their next step and move forward, like they always did.

As if her thoughts had willed him into existence, the phone rang.

_“Hey, Scully. It’s me.”_

Something was wrong, his voice was off. It sounded like he’d been crying, maybe, or even raging. She’d always felt Mulder was perpetually one wrong step away from a nervous breakdown and she was instantly worried. 

“Where are you?”

“ _They're shutting us down, Scully.”_

She felt her stomach drop. “What?”

_“They called me in tonight and they said they're going to reassign us to other sections.”_

“Who said that?” 

“ _Skinner_ ,” Mulder practically spat. He sounded very worked up. “ _He said word came down from the top of the executive branch.”_

Scully wondered if that creepy man with the cigarettes had been in Skinner’s office too, like he had during the Tooms investigation. Like he had been when she was first assigned to work with Mulder. She wondered about him frequently; who he was, who he worked for. Now, she thought perhaps a slightly clearer picture was being painted. 

“Mulder…”

“ _It's over, Scully,”_ he interrupted before she could even offer her thoughts on the matter. 

“Well, you have to lodge a protest,” she said, scrambling. “They can't…”

“ _Yes, they can.”_

She didn’t know her partner very well, but she knew that voice. It was the voice that meant he was out of options. And he didn’t want to let her in on his devastation, as much as she wanted to be there for him in a time of need. It was like he’d truly given up. She felt her heart break for him; he still had so much left to give. He still had to find Samantha. 

“What are you going to do?”

He was silent for a moment and she could picture him, alone in his dark apartment, rudderless, impotent. She didn’t know what to expect from him now. Mulder without his quest felt wrong, somehow. 

_“I'm... not going to give up. I can't give up. Not as long as the truth is out there.”_

Mulder had a penchant for the dramatic, and an uncanny ability to remain blissfully insouciant regarding how he sounded to others. For one wild moment she wondered when she’d see his face again, hear his voice, think of him as melodramatic in his own wonderful way.

The last time he’d called her like this in the middle of the night, it was to inform her all of their hard work on the Billy Miles case had been destroyed. They were alone, but still together. United against the unrelenting forces against them.

 _Tomorrow_ , she’d assured him back then. They’d talk tomorrow.

This time, they didn’t seem to have any more tomorrows.

  
  
  
**May 25, 1994**

Mulder stacked a few of his possessions into a single cardboard box, leaving behind the vast majority. He glanced around the basement office at the walls, littered with the unsolved, unresolved. Unfinished. He had a sneaking suspicion they’d be safe here, besides an occasional janitor and a couple of cockroaches.

There was a knock at his open door and he looked up to see Scully, leaning against the doorframe and carrying a briefcase.

“So, where’d they stick you?” she asked. “Back in Violent Crimes?”

He shook his head. “That wouldn’t be nearly as much of a punishment.”

“Oh, God,” she said, sympathy etched across her face. “Tell me.”

“Not sure yet. Some kind of scut work.” He slammed some books down into his box. “Something a monkey could do.” He kept stacking folders and documents, each one harder than the last as he continued his rant. “Four years on this detail, and this is the first time I’ve ever gotten so close to what I’ve been searching for. And now all I have to show for it is an office full of cases no one else will touch and a stupid nickname.”

“Mulder,” she began gently, looking at the ground. 

“Don’t bother,” he said. He wasn’t in the mood for her attempts at consolation when everything looked so hopeless. “You don’t have to pretend to be upset about this development, Scully. I know you never chose this gig.”

Her face dropped. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth.” He looked down at his box as he stacked items, not at her.

“Okay,” she said, that edge creeping into her voice that told him to stop fucking around with her. He looked up, because in moments like these, even though he hated admitting it, he was just a little bit terrified of his diminutive partner. “You’re right. I never chose this assignment.” She crossed the room and walked up to him. “But it certainly chose me, Mulder.”

His eyes searched hers. She was the one person he trusted anymore, the only person he wanted to trust.

“I’m in this with you,” she said earnestly. Her hand reached out and grabbed his forearm, which was currently holding his framed picture of Samantha. It wasn’t often they touched one another, and it was one of the methods he’d learned over the past several months she would use to ground him, to bring him back to earth. When he really needed to listen. 

He nodded slowly, deliberately. She gave him a hint of a smile. “Thank you,” he said. And he meant it. “So, where are they sending you?”

She pulled away from him. “Back to the academy, teaching.” It was what she’d been doing before they met, what he’d always suspected he’d involuntarily torn her away from. But she looked dismayed. “It’s going to be quite a change dabbling in the ordinary again after everything we’ve done.”

Mulder grinned. “Let me know if they give you a nickname.”

She grinned back, then looked down at her feet again, a bit shyly. “So… can you grab lunch later this week?”

He nodded. “Yeah, okay. That would be fun.”

“How about Friday? That little sandwich shop around the corner?”

He didn’t ask why she’d want to drive all the way back to D.C. in the middle of the week from Quantico, but he didn’t say anything. Truth was, he wanted to see her. So he nodded. “Sounds good, Scully.”

She turned with another gentle smile and walked out.

  
  
  
**May 27th, 1994**

Mulder hated surveillance. He knew he would, but it didn't even matter what assignment they'd given him, really; he could only think about all the work he’d rather be doing; the cases down below in the basement that screamed for attention that no one else could give.

What made it all worse was not only the lack of Scully in his life, but the addition of Jimmy, the agent assigned to explain to him the fascinating ins and outs of surveillance detail. He knew everything there possibly was to know about it, and wasn’t shy about telling Mulder that, either. He also wasn’t shy about trying to get Mulder to read his self-published novel (about a guy who worked surveillance). Besides the fact that Mulder had enough intel from this wiretap to make a half dozen arrests already, he had the sneaking suspicion Skinner had sent him down to work with this guy as a special kind of torture. 

Wednesday and Thursday rolled by, predictably torturous. Friday morning Jimmy regaled him with unceasing critique of the _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ finale, which Mulder had personally quite enjoyed. By mid-morning he was ready to strangle his co-worker along with his bad hair and bad opinions, and the only thing that kept him from actually doing it was the multitude of FBI agents surrounding them at all times, and the promise of a lunch date with Scully he didn’t want to miss.

“So, Mulder,” Jimmy said, shoving a Cheeto into his mouth. “How was it working with that cute, little redhead? Does the carpet match the drapes?”

Mulder ground his teeth, wanting to punch this guy in his face for making the offensive presumption he was in a position to know the answer, but he was on thin ice already. He decided instead to slam down his headset, get up, and walk out of the dark room without another word. 

It wasn’t quite noon, but he figured he’d take the scenic route to lunch. Anything was better than being stuck down in a miserable room with the most annoying person on the planet. When he arrived at the sandwich shop, he glanced in the front window to look for Scully. He thought he saw her at the counter, her back to him, looking over a menu. She was alone, but his eyes wandered down the counter to see a man sitting a few seats down wearing a trench coat and drinking a cup of coffee. He looked somewhat familiar.

Mulder’s paranoia was always slightly heightened, but ever since Deep Throat was killed he found himself even more so. He didn’t know exactly why this felt suspicious, but he had a hunch, and if there was one thing he always trusted it was his own gut.

The man in the restaurant hadn’t noticed him, so he walked a block down the street to find a payphone. He hoped Scully had her cell phone on her.

He dialed the number and when she answered he instructed her not to talk, just to listen. 

“Don’t look around, just stare at your menu and say ‘mm-hm,’” he told her. She did.

“There’s someone in the restaurant who either followed you there or knew where we were meeting,” he said. “We can’t talk there, it’s not safe.”

She was quiet, and he could tell she desperately wanted to roll her eyes and chastise him with an exasperated “ _Mulder…”_ but she didn’t.

“You have to leave, now,” Mulder said. “There’s a bar three blocks north and around the corner on tenth. Do me a favor and keep an eye out, make sure you’re not followed.”

He heard a heavy sigh, the one that even over the phone told him everything he needed to know about her current state of skepticism. “Okay.”

He hung up the phone and headed over to the bar, hiding across the street. After a few minutes, Scully walked up to the front, threw open the heavy door and went inside. He waited, and waited, but after a good couple of minutes no one else entered. Satisfied that she’d lost her tail, he followed her inside.

“Two iced teas,” he said to the bartender as he sat down beside her. He glanced back over his shoulder towards the door. Luckily, there weren’t many people drinking this afternoon.

The bartender smiled flirtatiously at Mulder and went to retrieve the drinks.

“I should tell you I despise when men order for me,” Scully said, an eyebrow raised.

“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t,” Mulder said, back-pedaling poorly. “They’re both for me.” He pointed at her, awkwardly. “You’re a root beer gal, right?”

She smiled, giving him a pass just this once. “So what’s with the cloak and dagger stuff, Mulder?” she asked. “I thought we were just having a friendly lunch.”

“Sorry, I got spooked,” he said, looking over his shoulder again. There was a guy there, and he was watching you. It gave me the creeps.”

“We’re downtown,” she reasoned. “There are creepy guys everywhere.”

Mulder shook his head. “No. Someone is listening to us,” he said with certainty. He thought of his apartment, and the very real bug he’d discovered only a few months back. “They knew we’d meet there. They’re either spying on us or following us.”

The bartender set the iced teas down in front of them and, picking up on the tail end of Mulder’s sentence, made an expression that indicated she’d lost any interest she might have previously had. Luckily, it was the last thing on his mind.

“Why all the subterfuge?” she asked. “To what end?”

“They can use what they hear against us, to keep us apart longer, to keep the X-Files closed. So it’s not safe to meet like this anymore, at least not right now. No phone calls, no paper trails.”

Scully took a sip from her iced tea. “Okay, so what should we do about it?”

Mulder tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully. “We need some kind of system.”

“You mean like a sock on the doorknob?” Scully teased.

Mulder looked up. “Exactly like a sock on the doorknob.”

“You don’t have a doorknob anymore, Mulder,” she pointed out. “Or an office, for that matter.”

“I have a desk,” he said. “It’s in the bullpen.”

“And I have a gurney,” she replied.

“Come on, Scully.”

“Okay, okay. I come to headquarters at least once a week anyway,” she pointed out. “I can just leave you a note.”

“No notes,” he said, shaking his head. “We need a fixed meeting spot and time. Something hidden away, something no one would know about.”

“Mulder, don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?” she asked. “I mean, you’re acting like we’re doing something illicit. We’re discussing X-Files, not plotting the Watergate break-in.”

Mulder looked up. “That’s it,” he said. “The Watergate. Ten PM. How about the parking garage?”

“Are you serious?”

“It’s perfect!” he exclaimed, then lowered his voice as the bartender passed by them. “So when either of us have any information to share, anything that can get us moving forward, how about you…” he gesticulated wildly, “...flip the picture of Samantha on my desk face down. I’ll see it and know it was you.”

“What about if you need to contact me?” she asked curiously.

He thought for a moment. “I’ll leave a blank post-it on the side of my computer,” he said. “Then whenever you’re in the building, you move it to my screen. I’ll see it and know we need to meet that night.”

Scully sipped thoughtfully, as if she wanted to say something, but didn’t.

“Got it,” she said simply. “Post-it for you, picture frame for me.”

“Excellent,” Mulder said. He opened his menu and started looking at the options. He could feel Scully staring at him.

“Mulder,” she began to say, then stopped. 

He didn’t look up from his menu. “What?”

She regarded him quietly for a moment, then shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s just eat.”

  
  
  
***

The bar where he’d met Scully became a staple for Mulder over the following few weeks. Every Friday night at the end of a long workday full of clueless criminals (and Jimmy) he found himself there, ordering a fifth of scotch and pretending it was something he typically did on the weekends. 

The same bartender who had previously ruled him out seemed to have softened to him a bit. The nicer she was to him, the more he wondered, but after the second time she comped him a drink he deduced that it was the absence of Scully that had probably made all the difference.

It was pleasant to have someone to talk to, even if it was just to unload about his obnoxious coworker. Mulder had been so busy keeping to himself, drowning in his own depression over losing the X-Files that it didn’t occur to him until much later the bartender sort of reminded him of Scully. She had strawberry blond hair that was pulled back into a ponytail, and while that was where the similarities ended, it was enough to keep him coming back. He missed Scully, and it was getting more difficult to not see her every day.

On the fifth Friday, he closed his tab and noticed she’d written her name and number on his receipt. He was pleasantly surprised; the last time he’d scored a woman’s number was years ago, before Diana, even. He was thrilled to know he was still desirable to a member of the opposite sex. 

In all of their conversations he didn’t recall ever actually asking her out, but maybe he had? It was mostly a blur. In any event, he called her. They set up a lunch date for the following Thursday and by the next morning he’d promptly forgotten about it.

*******

Scully knew Mulder was a bit odd, a bit out there. Hell, she’d known it back at the academy before she’d ever laid eyes on him. His name loomed large in the halls, among both students and faculty: this brilliant profiler who had such a talent for reading people his skills had been lauded spectacularly. 

The X-Files had been shut down in May, and July was well underway with nary a peep from him. She was teaching again at Quantico, and aside from an unfortunate experiment with bangs she had no intention of repeating, life was pretty good. But she missed her exploits with Mulder; the amazing things they’d encountered, the way he stimulated her brain.

Mostly, she just missed him.

She tried not to think about him as the days dragged on, but it was difficult. He consumed her waking mind: thoughts of how he was faring, if he’d learned anything new that could help them start their investigation again, FBI be damned. She wondered how Fox Mulder was surviving in an X-Files-free existence.

But the nagging part of her brain just wondered if he missed her too; if he’d even spared her a thought these past few weeks. While she knew information was slow-coming if not nonexistent, there was a part of her that just wanted to say hello, to feel like his friend again. To know that this _something_ that kept him on her mind constantly, that tied them to one another, wasn’t strictly the X-Files. They’d been so wrapped up in their work and their cases over the past several months, she hadn’t anticipated that comfortable part of her life suddenly being gone completely.

Truth was, she was realizing her ex-partner meant more to her than was convenient at the moment.

Scully stood in the autopsy bay surrounded by students not too much younger than herself. “What this man imagined…” she said, gesturing towards the corpse on the table. “His dreams, who he loved, saw, heard, remembered... what he feared…”

Her thoughts grew fuzzy and she thought of Mulder, again. His memories of his sister and how the events of his past had shaped him into someone she’d grown to care about. His fascinating mind, his maddening methods. Just… _him_. How much there was to know of him, and how she very well may never get a chance to learn it. 

“...Somehow it’s all locked inside this small mass of tissue and fluid,” she finished.

A female student pulled her out of her private reverie. 

_You kind of sounded a little... spooky._

Scully took it as a compliment.

  
  
***

  
  


_“Fox!”_

_He sees it again, her terrified face as she screams for help. But he can do nothing, absolutely nothing. The room shakes violently and he sees the outline of a creature, something sinister and otherworldly. He’s frozen in place, completely useless._

_Then she is gone._

_Again._

  
  
  


**July 6, 1994**

Mulder rarely slept at all anymore, let alone at work. But he startled awake and was surprised to find himself at his desk in the bullpen. A couple of nearby agents looked his way, chuckling. He glanced around surreptitiously, a bit embarrassed, then leaned back in his chair, stretching and rubbing his eyes. He probably looked like shit. He sure felt like shit.

He found himself thinking about Scully, wondering what she was doing. If she ever thought about him anymore, or the X-Files. He hadn’t heard from her in weeks, and his hands felt tied that he really had no reason to contact her. 

Maybe it was enough that he missed her. He missed her voice, he missed her face. Maybe they could meet and catch up, like friends would. Would that be so terrible? 

He removed a yellow post-it from his pad and was about to stick it to the side of his computer when another face caught his eye from the corner of his desk: Samantha, all smiles, triumphant at the top of a jungle gym. He felt that familiar coiling in his gut yet again, that he’d failed her. He’d let her down completely. And he was in no position to even continue looking anymore.

He closed his eyes, ashamed, and stuck the sticky note over her face. He couldn’t look his kid sister in the eyes. It was too much.

  
  


***

  
  


After weeks and weeks without contact, her experience in the autopsy bay had convinced Scully she had to see him, somehow. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt like some kind of drug addict in the worst stage of withdrawal. She needed a hit, and fast.

Regardless of Mulder’s rules and errant paranoia, she entered the bullpen, and it was pretty busy, but there was no sign of Mulder. She wandered over to his desk and glanced at it. It was cleaner than he tended to be, and it gave her a pang that he didn’t have his own space, that he couldn’t plaster the walls around him with the things he loved anymore. 

Then she noticed what she knew was his framed picture of Samantha in its usual spot next to his computer. A sticky note was covering her face. 

Her heart broke for him. How lonely he must be, how sad, to have done such a thing. He was clearly struggling; drifting even further and further away from the Mulder she knew. She wanted desperately to reach him but she wasn’t sure how, or if he’d even let her. 

In any event, she had to try. So she reached: she reached out her hand and turned over the picture frame.

After finishing up her business at the Hoover Building with no Mulder in sight, she was making her way to the elevator to head back to Quantico when she saw him striding towards her. He looked distant, angry even, and it took her a bit off guard.

“Good afternoon, Agent Mulder,” she said in as friendly a way as she could manage while maintaining the professional detachment she knew he’d appreciate. But her efforts were wasted as he pushed right past her, his eyes focused on nothing, his mind clouded with something that was not the here or the now.

She watched him move away from her towards his desk, and hoped he would even notice the message-- no, the lifeline-- he himself had encouraged her to send him.

***

  
  


“Four dollars for the first hour of parking is criminal,” Mulder said as he emerged from the shadows. “What you got better be worth at least forty-five minutes.”

Her face came into view and she smiled at him, and for a moment it was as if they’d never been apart. He half expected her to hold up a file for him to look over, that familiar eyebrow lifting, a curious look on her face. 

“You know, Mulder, from… from back there, you looked like him,” she said. She looked somewhat relieved.

"’Him?’"

Scully looked a bit chastened. “Deep Throat.”

“He's dead, Scully,” Mulder reminded her. “I attended his funeral at Arlington through eight-power binoculars from a thousand yards away.”

Scully sighed visibly, and he knew she wasn’t quite sold on the amount of precautions he’d been taking. But it hadn’t been the first time she’d been wrong about them being watched. He figured it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Now, the picture frame was turned down,” he said, getting right down to business. Surely that was the reason she was here. “You wanted to talk. What have you found?”

“I wanted to talk, but I haven't found anything.”

A car engine started nearby and he shifted around her, back into the shadows, watchful eyes darting around the garage. “It's dangerous for us just to have a little chat, Scully. We must assume we're being watched.”

“Mulder, I haven't seen any indication…”

“No, no, of course not. These people are the best.”

“I've taken all of the necessary precautions,” Scully said, attempting to put him at ease. “I have doubled back over my tracks to make sure I haven't been followed. And no one has ever followed me.” She stepped closer to him. “The X-Files have been terminated, Mulder. We have been reassigned. What makes you think they care about us anymore, anyway?”

Her dismissal of something he was certain was fact— that they’d been separated precisely because someone did care very much about what they were doing— irritated him. “So why have you bothered to come here covertly?”

“Because I realize it was the only way that you would see me.”

“So what do you want?”

“To know that you're alright,” she exhaled. “Mulder, you passed me today within a foot, but you were miles away.”

He knew Scully well enough to know that she cared about him, of course she did. But he didn’t want her to think he was worse than he actually was, at least in his own mind.

“They've got me on electronic surveillance,” he explained, miffed. “White bread cases, bank fraud, insurance fraud, health care swindles.”

Scully looked sympathetic. “I know that you feel… frustrated… that without the Bureau's resources it's impossible for you to continue-”

“No, it’s...”

“Well, what then?” she asked, a little impatiently. “When the Bureau first shut us down, you said you would go on for as long as the truth was out there. But I no longer feel that from you.”

 _You_ would go on, she’d said. It was the same thing she’d said when she first learned the X-Files had been shut down. _What are you going to do?_ He didn’t know why she’d said it, but he didn’t like it. 

“Have you ever been to San Diego?” Mulder asked her.

She blinked, confused. “Yeah.”

“Did you check out the Palomar Observatory?”

“No.”

“From 1948 until recently, it was the largest telescope in the world. The idea and design came from a brilliant and wealthy astronomer named George Ellery Hale. Actually, the idea was presented to Hale one night while he was playing billiards.” He looked away. “An elf climbed in his window and told him to get money from the Rockefeller Foundation for a telescope.”

Scully listened closely. It was something she usually did, something he’d missed. Something he wasn’t used to from others. “And you're worried that all your life you've been seeing elves?” she asked him.

He wasn’t sure what he believed anymore. It just seemed he’d truly reached the end of the road. “In my case… little green men,” he replied with a sardonic expression.

Scully sat next to him. “But, Mulder… during your time with the X-Files, you've seen so much.”

There it was again. _You_ . It seemed the _we_ had been executed just like Deep Throat.

“That's just the point,” he said, frustrated. “Seeing is not enough. I should have something to hold onto. Some solid evidence.” His expression softened a bit. “I learned that from you.”

She looked chastened. “Your sister's abduction, you've held onto that.”

He looked away from her, because what he was about to reveal was something he didn’t even want to consider, let alone say out loud. “I'm beginning to wonder if… if that ever even happened.”

“Mulder,” Scully began, and he heard what he knew was concern rising in her voice. “Even if George Hale only saw elves in his mind, the telescope still got built.”

His eyes fixed onto her face, and listened as she delivered her final piece of advice.

“Don't give up.”

He didn’t want to give up, he really didn’t. He just felt like he had so little left. 

Mulder hung his head, staring at the asphalt. She stood, and he felt her hand ruffle his hair a bit. He had a fleeting thought that he couldn’t remember the last time a human being had touched him.

“And next time, we meet out in the open,” she insisted. 

Scully walked away, and he was left alone again in the darkness.

  
  


***

  
  


Scully walked past the agents in a hallway she’d rarely gone down, looking for Mulder’s new office. It seemed Skinner didn’t want to lose him over his antics in Puerto Rico, but Mulder’s punishment had indeed been appropriate: he’d been sent back down to continue his surveillance. When she found the office, there was another male agent there coming through the doorway.

“Jimmy,” he said, extending his hand. Scully shook it reluctantly.

“Agent Scully,” she replied. “I’m looking for Agent Mulder?”

Jimmy gestured over his shoulder. “He’s in there. Not in the best mood, I’m afraid.”

Scully gave him a tight smile. “Thanks.” She attempted to brush past him but he stopped her. 

“Is it true you and Agent Mulder saw some kind spirit presence caught on a surveillance tape last year?”

“Um…” Scully recalled. “We were unable to substantiate that, exactly.”

“Interesting,” said Jimmy.

Scully looked at him awkwardly. “May I…” she gestured behind him.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, shuffling aside. As she went by, he called after her, “Would you be interested in reading a book I wrote about electronic surveillance?”

Scully ignored him, rolling her eyes as she moved deeper into the surveillance room. She finally stumbled upon Mulder, who was frantically rewinding a tape.

“It should be right here,” he said, disturbed. “The entire tape is blank.”

Scully had a feeling it would be. “You know, an electrical surge in the outlet during the storm may have degaussed everything, erasing the entire tape,” she suggested. She was somewhat relieved to see Mulder down here, checking the tape again and again, refusing to give up. 

“You still have nothing,” she continued sadly, resigned. But there was something different; the old Mulder was back today. Beneath that scruffy chin, behind that ridiculous tie beat the heart of her partner. 

“I may not have the X-Files, Scully, but I still have my work.” He fiddled with the tape deck, unable to meet her eye. “And I still have you.”

She looked up, touched and surprised by this admission. Despite his avoidance tactics over the past few weeks, besides their lack of forward movement, he still felt the same way about their partnership that he had when they were actually partners.

“And I still have myself,” he mumbled, as he took his seat next to her. She reached out once again to reach him, to make contact. She squeezed his hand, and this time, he squeezed back gently before she got up to leave him to his work.

  
  
  


**July 12th, 1994**

A few days after Mulder returned from Puerto Rico, he was feeling like himself again. He was sleeping, and the nightmares had stopped. He still didn’t have the X-Files, but he felt a surge of confidence and hope that he hadn’t had in weeks.

When he got in to work, he saw a post-it note stuck to the screen of his computer. He peeled it off.

_“Take a method and try it. If it fails, admit it frankly, and try another. But by all means, try something.”_

_12 PM._

He smiled at Scully’s new method: meeting out in the open, but the added touch of mystery that she knew he’d appreciate. He thought about her clue all morning, then when he’d finished up his work, he left the Hoover Building in time to make the meeting.

  
  


***

  
  


The park around the Tidal Basin was busy, filled with tourists visiting the Jefferson Memorial and other various attractions. The heat was nearly unbearable and Scully was glad she’d foregone her jacket. She sat on a bench in a nearby park and waited for Mulder.

“I like the new spot.” 

She heard his voice before she saw him. He came up through the shadows, but instead of dark shadows of a parking garage, it was the webbed shadows of a tree above them.

“It’s easier to breathe out here,” she said. She glanced out across the water at the Washington Monument. “It’s good to get out of that dark room every now and again, Mulder. Remind yourself the world is still out here.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” he said, sitting next to her. “You made me work for this one, you know.” He gestured behind them at the Franklin D. Roosevelt memorial. “You’re lucky Byers knows his Presidential quotes.”

“I worked hard for it too,” she smiled. “There’s no Eleanor Roosevelt memorial.”

“There should be, though,” he said, and she nodded in agreement. He groaned and exhaled, leaning way back into the bench. “Well, they sent Jimmy to another field office. Things are looking up, Scully.”

“The wiretap guy?” she asked, amused. “What was his deal?”

Mulder rubbed his temples in frustration. “He’s just… the worst, Scully.”

Scully winced. “Sorry.”

Mulder sighed. “It’s all right, he’s out of my hair now.” He looked over. “How about you? Any co-workers driving you nuts?”

“You mean more than before?” she teased. He rolled his eyes. “No. Just a bunch of students. There’s an agent in Science & Technology I’ve been dealing with, he seems like a nice guy.”

“A nice guy?” Mulder repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, a nice guy,” she said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “As in, _not_ the absolute worst.”

He nodded, leaned back in his seat a bit. “What’s his name?”

“Pendrell, I think,” she replied. She barely knew him but they’d interacted a few times. He was the only agent she’d been seeing with any regularity, however tiny. It occurred to her she’d become accustomed to having a partner, someone who had her back, someone she could count on.

She watched Mulder as he stared up at the blue sky, wondering, as she often did, exactly what was going on inside his head. Was he here with her right now, tethered? Or was he somewhere else again, like he’d been in Puerto Rico?

“How are you, Mulder?” she asked pointedly. 

“I’m good,” he said. She believed him because he looked right at her when he said it. “I think I’ve found my way again.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“It was just… this feeling was closing in on me again, this feeling of losing my grip, losing my purpose.” He paused. “Losing Samantha.” 

She was quiet, just wanting to let him share, to let him talk to her.

“I was having these nightmares about her abduction again. I used to have them all the time, and then… they stopped. I didn’t understand why.”

Scully just listened.

“But… I think now I understand,” he said.

“What do you understand?”

“It was you,” he said, smiling gently. “Having someone in my corner, someone who shared my passion for truth. Even though we have different approaches, we share the same goal. And I hadn’t had that in a very long time, Scully.”

“Are you saying… when we started working together, your nightmares stopped?”

He nodded. “And then started again when I felt the X-Files slipping away. When I felt _you_ slipping away.”

Scully shook her head. “You have to know I’ve been with you this entire time, Mulder,” she said. “Even though we were separated.”

Mulder turned away from her, casting his eyes downward. It was as if he wanted to say something and was bucking up the courage. “You asked me what I was going to do,” he said suddenly.

“What are you talking about?”

“The night I called you, to tell you about us getting shut down. You said ‘what are _you_ going to do?’” He looked at her meaningfully. “I thought maybe you’d already separated us in your mind, before the bureau even did.”

Scully closed her eyes, thinking of every moment that had passed since that phone call; every conversation she’d had with him, every time she thought about him. That entire time, he’d thought she’d abandoned him. In her effort to stay focused on him, she had somehow lost _them_. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said. “It’s you and me, Mulder. Okay?”

She looked over at him, and he gave her a nod. “I know that now,” he said, a grin tugging the corner of his mouth upwards. It occurred to her she hadn’t seen that smile in weeks. It was like a breath of fresh air.

They sat side by side, staring out across the water. He’d been so honest with her, so raw and real about what had been going on with him. She knew what she had to do.

“Mulder, I need to tell you something.”

He looked over at her. “What is it?”

“The night… the night Deep Throat was executed,” she began. Maybe it would help her to talk about it in any case. “There’s something I neglected to tell you.”

He sat up straighter. “What?”

She took a deep breath. “After you were captured, he told me what I needed to do to save your life. He gave me specific instructions to go to a government facility, and retrieve… a package.”

Mulder looked concerned. “What package?”

“I don’t know how to describe it, it…” she couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth at all: she was about to confide to Mulder something she neither believed nor could prove. But she knew it was the right thing to do. “It looked like some kind of alien fetus on ice, Mulder.”

He blinked. “Looked like?”

She shrugged. “They took it before I could analyze it,” she explained. “There’s no way to be sure of its authenticity. Which is why I didn’t want to tell you--”

He began to get up, frustrated. “--I didn’t want to get your hopes up, Mulder,” she said. “Regardless of what I saw, what either of us believe… the proof you’re searching for still eludes us.”

Mulder had his back turned to her, quiet, just staring out across the water.

“I should have told you. You asked me if I found something and I should have told you,” she sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He still said nothing.

“I need you to hear me, Mulder,” she said. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that we will do whatever we can to keep going.”

“You don’t owe me that, Scully,” he said flatly. “We aren’t partners anymore.”

She got up, stepped over to stand beside him. “But we are,” she told him. “You still have me. Remember?” He was her partner, no matter what the bureau told them. 

She reached out to turn his face towards her so she could look at him. She spoke no words, just made eye contact, and watched him come down back to earth: like a spacecraft sent to circle the moon then return safely. She took his hand in hers and gently squeezed it. He took a deep breath and was grounded again, squeezing her hand in return.

“I still have you,” he said, repeating what he’d told her earlier. Only this time, he looked her in the eyes when he said it.

She smiled, nodding in relief. They stood at the water’s edge, side by side, and she thought of the change he’d warned her about weeks ago. Change had certainly come for them both, but it wasn’t the change she’d feared. It was an evolution in their partnership, and she felt like they’d been reborn. 

As they turned to go, high above them in the trees, a tiny white butterfly emerged from its cocoon, flapped its wings, and took off into the sky.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
